


Lay It All Down

by Crowgirl



Series: Boston 'Verse [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Domestic, Emotional Constipation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-09
Updated: 2013-07-09
Packaged: 2017-12-18 07:22:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/877144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowgirl/pseuds/Crowgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Titles for this section come from the glorious Melissa Etheridge's <a href="http://youtu.be/ZUCwwXMbnas">"Talkin' with My Angels."</a></p></blockquote>





	Lay It All Down

Castiel makes himself take a bath. Not because he thinks it will relax him or make the anger fizzing through him any cooler, but because it _will_ stop him from storming back out into the living room and reading Dean an ill-advised riot act.

He grits his teeth through the first ten minutes in the warm, salt-heavy water, still arguing with Dean in his head, losing and winning by turns. 

It’s only after he closes his eyes and forces himself to listen to the sound of his own breath echoing in the tiled bathroom for several minutes that he begins to calm down. It’s a habit he developed during the bad years -- and when had they really been good? -- with Zach. 

Fights with Zach could go on for days; the man was a past master of the angry, silent sulk and Castiel doesn’t like to think about how many times he fell for that, apologizing when he knew he had done nothing wrong, making meals, buying gifts, making up to the other man for things Zach had done . Castiel had sworn to himself that he would not do that again -- that no-one could make him behave like that again.

But what had he and Dean even been arguing _about?_

Even after the best part of two months, spending days at a time with Dean, Castiel is not entirely sure what to make of him. He knows how Dean drinks his coffee, what kind of movies he likes, what music he turns on after work. But sometimes he switches gears so fast Castiel simply can’t keep up. He seems to be amused when he’s angry; he plays anger like a joke, and jokes like something serious.

 _God damn it..._ Castiel thinks gloomily and lets himself sink deeper in the water, letting it lap up around his ears.

He gets out of the bath when the water starts to cool and dries himself off perfunctorily. He drops the towel in the hamper, pulls his bathrobe off the hook on the back of the door, and wraps himself up in it.

The bedroom is dim, lit only by the faint glow of the streetlights below until he clicks on the bedside lamp. As if it’s a signal, Nellie starts to meow and scratch at the bottom of the door. 

Pondering the wisdom of installing an internal cat door, Castiel crosses the room and cracks the door, enough to let the cat scurry in, tail high. As he moves to push the door shut, he realises Dean is standing across the hall, still and silent as if hoping not to be noticed.

Suddenly too tired, too annoyed, too _old_ to deal with high school in his own home, Castiel pushes the door open.

Dean glances up at him, then away, scrubbing a hand over his head in a way Castiel has come to realize denotes embarrassment.

‘I am sorry for--’ Castiel begins, the words stiff in his mouth. It isn’t what he meant to say, not what he pictured himself saying when he was in the bath. He does not feel sorry; he is not even sure he has anything to apologize for but better anything than--

‘No, I am,’ Dean interrupts, pulling himself straight and shoving his hands in his pockets. ‘It isn’t--’ He stops, mouth twisting.

Castiel stands in his doorway, an arm over his abdomen, the other hand on the doorknob. There is no way to pretend this is a pleasant conversation and if Dean is willing to acknowledge that, then he is, too.

‘I...look.’ Dean points back down the hall to the living room. ‘I’ve been sittin’ in there for an _hour_ tryin’ to think of somethin’ that doesn’t sound stupid and I can’t so you’re just gonna have to think I sound stupid, okay?’

Before Castiel can say anything, positive or negative, Dean barrels on, eyes fixed on the ground at Castiel’s feet, hands deep in his jeans pockets, shoulders slightly hunched.

‘If you toss me out...okay. I’ll find somewhere else to stay ‘til I can get the car fixed up and get back on the road.’ Dean pauses, sucks in a deep breath. ‘’m not gonna fuck you. Not like that -- promised myself I wouldn’t do that any more when Dad died--’

‘Dean, I--’ 

Dean holds up a hand, not looking at Castiel. ‘Shut up ‘n let me finish.’ There’s no heat in his words and, obediently, Castiel shuts up. ‘I won’t...do that for you, whatever you want to call it but-- I _like_ it when you touch me, Cas, okay? I just...I can’t...I don’t know--’ 

He raises his head, finally looks Castiel full in the face and Castiel feels his breath catch. Dean looks miserable, broken, and if this is a sell or a fake or a joke or some kind of trick then Castiel will eat his oldest pair of running shoes.

Dean raises his hands, lets them fall open against his thighs. ‘I don’t know what to do, okay? Sex was a meal for me. For a long...a _long_ fucking time. If I didn’t... then I didn’t eat. Or Dad was stuck in jail or ...whatever, you don’t want to know--’

‘Yes, I do,’ Castiel interrupts, not wanting to let that particular misunderstanding go further.

‘You... what?’ Dean’s eyebrows arch high and he tilts his head in an unmistakable _come again?_ gesture.

‘You _assume_ I do not want to know. I know you think I am...naive or...sheltered but--’

‘No, Cas, I--’

‘But I am not a fool,’ Castiel speaks over him and Dean falls silent. ‘I have not been particularly sheltered, whatever you think.’ The thought that Dean thinks less of him somehow, thinks down to him, thinks to protect him by not telling him the big bad truth stings, more than Castiel likes to admit. 

_Two months,_ he thinks, balling up the fingers of the hand in his pocket. Dean has been in his life for a total of two months. Castiel had been at school, in classes, shared dorm rooms with boys for years -- argued with them in class, played on the soccer team with them, met their families, danced with their sisters -- and not wanted to know as much about them as he wanted to know about Dean.

Dean is looking at him, studying him, eyes dark and careful. When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet. ‘I don’t wanna tell you.’

Castiel resists the urge to close his eyes, feeling his heart turn heavy. Behind him, he can hear Nellie chirping to herself and imagines her padding out a place at the foot of the bed.

‘No, Cas--’ Dean reaches out towards him, brushes fingertips over the woollen sleeve of his bathrobe. ‘Not...not like that. Just...’ He shrugs awkwardly, fingers jogging over Castiel’s elbow. 

‘...I...’ He looks up again and Castiel can see the tightness in his face.

As he looks, he realises that two months doesn’t only mean he knows he’s falling hard, but it also means he knows a lot more about Dean’s face than he used to. He can see the sharp lines cutting between his eyebrows, see where the corners of the wide mouth are pulled back and pulled in. 

Without meaning to, without deciding to, Castiel gives in. He knows it, feels it happening, feels the give in his chest. ‘All right.’ He slides his unpocketed hand over Dean’s. ‘I will not ask again.’

Dean nods, a short, tight movement of the head, but doesn’t move, doesn’t take his hand back.

‘But...I would like something from you. In return.’ Castiel watches carefully but either these are tells he does not know yet or Dean is genuinely just being still. The closed-off darkness is not in his eyes, but he does look wary and his hand has tensed on Castiel’s arm. 

‘What?’

‘I want you to believe I do not want--’ No, that’s not right. However ridiculous he might sound, standing here barefoot in the hallway in an old grey bathrobe, there’s really only one way he wants to put this. ‘I would never take anything from you you did not wish to give.’

**Author's Note:**

> Titles for this section come from the glorious Melissa Etheridge's ["Talkin' with My Angels."](http://youtu.be/ZUCwwXMbnas)


End file.
